


Ambitions and Winter Roses

by NeverAgainEvan



Series: Different Roads Sometimes Lead to the Same Castle [2]
Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: ASOIAF Rare Pair Week, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Pre-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-02
Updated: 2019-08-02
Packaged: 2020-07-29 15:33:32
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,353
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20084548
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NeverAgainEvan/pseuds/NeverAgainEvan
Summary: Olenna Tyrell marries Rickard Stark, some things change others don't. Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle.





	Ambitions and Winter Roses

**Author's Note:**

> There are a dew changes to canon to make this story work. I changed Olenna to be younger so Luthor Tyrell wouldn't even notice her, in turn Daeron wasn't really pressed to break the betrothal yet as Olenna wasn't old enough to marry yet anyway.

_Damn them all. _Those three words have rattling in her head constantly. Daeron Targaryen, the _lackwit pillow-bitter, _her idiot father, Luthor Tyrell and the Florent whore who seduced him before her teats could grow more. Seven forsake the Rat, Hawk, and Pig Rebellion. The source of all her issues, if that thrice-damned rebellion never occurred Jon Arryn and his squire Rickard Stark would have never met her stupid father Runceford.

_All men are dumb dogs, _her bitter mother would tell her frequently.

She is eleven and is time for her betrothal to be solidified, if only Daeron hadn’t died, she could have been queen one day. Her father’s wine-soaked mind had been hurt by Daeron constantly calling off a future wedding date, had decided in secret that Luthor could be a better choice. Then Luthor, that handsome idiot went and married the big eared, big-breasted, wide-hipped whore Melara Florent. Luthor obviously found Olenna herself too young to fuck.

But young Rickard Stark, nine and tall, squiring for a Manderly knight who died early in the rebellion and latched himself onto Ser Jon Arryn, not much older than him, but already a knight, was perfect for Dunceford. Her father’s household knights’ chatter that her father charged the Pig only to be beaten, when the Pig was about to kill him, Rickard saved him while Ser Jon killed the Pig. Her lackwit father felt honor bound to reward the heir to Winterfell.

The reward? Her hand in marriage. _My hand!? I was made for the south, not the bitter cold! _She complains to all, her older brother Ryam, her mother, and her nephew, Paxter. No one responds, except for Paxter who rambles about only things toddlers care about. She decided to be useful. She sailed to Oldtown with her father’s galleys to take them home. Once there she resolved herself to scare the grey rats into giving her all the books on the North they had, or to give her lessons when the more stubborn of them refused her entrance to their dour library. She absorbed all the knowledge she could while her father handled the aftermath of the rebellion and rode south. Almost a fortnight in she was soon to be unwelcome in Oldtown.

When her father arrived in Oldtown he was not only accompanied by his men, but at least a score of both Arryn and Stark men. Dunceford introduced them, but Rickard hardly acknowledge her, he only had eyes for what she later learns is everything about Oldtown. But at the time she was raging because she was so sure he was another pillow-bitter. They joined her company to the Arbor. Dunceford thinking he’s so smart put Rickard on her ship.

Then he noticed her. _Finally. _“My lady,” he calls at supper one night.

She gave him her attention. “Yes.” Although hesitantly, they’ve exchanged less than four words so far.

“What is your name,” he asks so nonchalantly, one would think he is meeting his betrothed for the first time. Not a week later. She fumes and her face burns, her cutting knife is heavy in her hand.

“Rickard,” Jon says exasperated. “you must…”

“Olenna,” she spits. “Is that all Rickon?” It was such a weak retort she fumes more. She wants to leave and order her cog to ram her father’s galley. It would kill all of them at once, but the shame of this betrothal would end. She stands slowly.

“No,” he puts a spoonful of soup in his mouth and chews slowly on the fish meat. He must know he is infuriating her. “I’m just curious is all. What is the Arbor like? What kind of grapes do you cultivate and use? Does it ever get cold down here?” A gleam was in his eye. Not just curiosity but machinations, a cool calculated gleam, a gleam she had only seen in her mirror. She sat back down, and answered hesitantly at first, but then her and Rickard talked almost for two days straight.

They edged around their ambitions, but their curiosity of everything relayed that they had unnaturally high ambitions. She saw a dynasty in her future.

On the Arbor she and Rickard rode the whole length of the island during his stay thrice. From Ryamsport to Coldwater Cove. His gleam never faded, she knew for she watched it constantly, afraid something would change once his curiosity was sated. _It never was. _She ended up writing that boy more than three hundred letters by the time they met again.

He detoured from the Stepstones to the Arbor at the head of a fleet ten galleys strong. This time he was not nine and she wasn’t eleven. At eighteen Rickard was gruff and tall, very tall with broad shoulders, thick beard, inquisitive grey eyes, and curly brown hair to his ears. She was small and lithe, blue eyes, long orange hair, and had a bridge of freckles across her nose.

His first words to her in nine years are as dry as the other first. “Did you even grow?” Nine years of writing him, let her know he was only joking.

“Of course,” she stood in a way that showed off he assets subtly. He noticed; he always did. “But by the Old and New you sprouted like a tree.”

“Only for you,” he holds out his arm and she takes it.

“I would hope, I don’t particularly like to share. I pricked the last woman who stood in my way.” Melara never returned to the Arbor for a retreat after the lashing Olenna gave her. After her elderly father gave his blessings that night, she and Rickard were married in the morning.

The week they were allowed passed to soon. She had fun being devoured by her wolf. She seduced him on nights he slept away from her, and after a while she believed he was finally wrapped around her little finger. She prayed for once that she was pregnant. But Rickard sailed on the eighth day at the head of a fleet 50 warships strong. That night the tongue-lashing she gave Dunceford made even her skin bristle.

Though she was angry at the Targaryens and Blackfyres, her hopes came true, her belly swelled to accommodate her firstborn. At her five-month mark, word came of Ser Barristan Selmy killing Maelys the Monstrous. The next day she boarded her cog and sailed to King’s Landing. She was tired of the Arbor, curious of the capital, and she wanted Rickard. Her lusts for the carnal pleasure had grown since her deflowering.

When she disembarked, Rickard was there, running up to her. Twirling her and kissing her. Surprised was an understatement, her husband was solemn and strict not jolly and carefree. But here he was in the middle of the port acting like a fool. _Her fool_.

His hand found her stomach. “A son,” he proclaimed to the whole port, but his eyes were on her. “Are you well? Is he well?”

She expected aloofness, not this. There wasn’t a sign of her dry, savage Northman. A side to Rickard she had not seen. _One, certainly she didn’t want half the maidens of King’s Landing to see_. “We’re well Rickard,” she said bitingly but was smiling. Olenna's feet were off the ground from the strength of the embrace he gave her.

With one arm wrapped around her middle, she was dragged to every stall, knight, and passerby, her belly thrusted out and her feet nowhere near the ground. It was embarrassing but Rickard’s face was proud and happy.

Then he suggested they walk to the Red Keep. Likely to show her off to the whole city.

“Rick I am tired, and my feet are swollen,” she remarked. “I cannot walk all the way to the Red Keep.”

“But, there’s so- “

“No Rick,” she called for a palanquin. Rickard’s shoulders slumped.

Jon was there as well. “My lady, Rickard has practically worn ruts into his chambers walking in circles since he’s arrived. Waiting to explore with you.”

Her heart leapt in her chest. “Then he can wait one more day or two.” She climbed in the palanquin. But stuck her head out the curtain. “But there’s still the Red Keep.” Rickard was beaming then. He hurriedly mounted his horse and ordered his guardsmen to create a path for Lady Stark as all haste.

Rickard proceeded to carry her everywhere around the Red Keep, no matter how unseeming it was, they couldn’t seem to care. They competed on who can place the name to the most dragon skulls. _She lost more than won_. They examined portraits critically. Studied statues, armor, tile mosaics, and were mesmerized by the two Valyrian sphinxes that flanked the door to the small council chambers. Inspected all the interesting books the library had to offer, and at night examined each other’s bodies. Though they still made time for their ambitions, while they did their activities, they simultaneously scrutinized the royal family for any weaknesses.

Jaehaerys’s sickly, pale form of intelligence, and the arm he tried to hide. Rickard said too much dragon blood at the scaly conjoined hand. Shaera’s grim but powerful presence, _the true king, _if Olenna didn’t hate her she would admire her. Quiet Rhaella and the curious toddler Rhaegar, a good heir.

But one flaw appeared: Aerys. She and Rickard did not know of Aerys’s future or his own ambitions beside being king, but he was too gallant to be true, too proud, and too mercurial with his emotions, thoughts, and goals.

Rickard and Olenna decided to befriend a few court people, the type that would never go home, but spend their lives in the Red Keep, to be their unknowing informants. She told Rickard every great man needed a man in the throne room.

Their last three days in the capital they planned to spend in the city beneath the hills. But on the second day a raven came for her husband, written in the hands of the _harlot _Lyarra Stark, Rickard’s cousin and once betrothed, who was now promised to Jon Arryn. She wrote that Lord Stark was dead, and Rickard had to come home to take his place. _An oblivious statement, of course my husband had to come home_.

Surprising herself she comforted Rickard on the journey north, she had never once in her life comforted someone before. Mostly because it was her who would make them sad or mad. Though she found her and Rickard becoming closer in his grief. Though the main thing she found she had grown to love the past week, his soft side was almost gone. Whether in grief or the weight on his shoulders. But she saw how Rickard must look in battle, a golem made flesh. Those grey eyes seemed to take in the cold of the north and turn to ice.

When Rickard buried his father in the crypts the cloud over him disappeared. He smiled once again when he seemed to remember something. He took her to the top floor of the library tower, inside was a smaller map table at Dragonstone, except it was just the north.

He spoke of how he planned to expand the port at Barrowton, build more ships on each coast to protect against wildlings and the Ironborn that seem to go on a massive pillage once every century since the Targaryen’s came to power. He planned to open more mines in the mountains and start expanding northern commerce.

“One of the reasons I married you,” he smiled softly. “You could bring the north better trading with the Reach.”

“I can do more than that Rick,” she proclaimed as she moved some pieces on his map. When he saw where she placed the castle pieces, he smiled calculating Olenna returned it.

“This could take our whole lives, are you prepared?” He asked her.

“Of course, I am. I was ready the day we went to Coldwater Cove.” She wrapped herself behind him. “But if not, Brandon will need to continue our goals.”

“Brandon," he seemed to try it out on his tongue. "I’ll make sure of it,” he turned his head at her grip tightening and saw her look her continued, “We’ll make sure of it of course.”

The first time it snowed was the next day. She hated it immediately, but soon found the joys in the summer snows. The nights were discomforting, but in Rickard’s arms they were weren’t. Unexpectedly she grew to love this land alongside her son Brandon. Grey-blue eyed and brown haired, lusty and big, she felt as if he would never come out with his big head. He was terrorizing everyone by the time Ned was born, named after his grandfather and Edrick Manderly, who recently died and had helped her, and Rickard build more ships. He had grey eyes and orange hair, was quiet and demanding all at once. A few years later Lyanna was born, a moon after Lyarra died in childbirth giving Jon Arryn his heir, a girl, he named Sharra. She did not want to name her daughter after Lyarra, but instead nice names like Margaery and Mina. But Rickard’s sad face acquiesced her.

After Lyanna Olenna, declared herself done. She couldn’t do another giant headed Stark. Then Benjen came unexpectedly, sliding easily into this world like butter, he resembled her the most with her blue eyes and orange hair, and hoped this time he would stay orange headed, as Eddard’s hair darkened to a sandy-orange color.

As the years went by Aerys became madder and madder, and she and Rickard were constantly stressed from northern lords refusing to change. Even having to skirmish with Rogar Bolton’s men in the Hornwood. All their arguments fell on deaf ears since Edrick Manderly died.

Till the devastating winter of 270-273 AC. Three thousand northmen died, and Benjen was sick through half of it. She wanted to burn every castle in the north, and she would have if Ben had died. But at winter’s end, Umber, Bolton, Mormont, Dustin, Ryswell, Karstark, and Glover came limping into her hall ready to listen. And they did. _Stagnation wasn’t traditional, it was death to a culture_.

She established better trade with House Tyrell, ordered people to mine the mountains, where they found an abundance of flint, iron, and copious amounts of silver. Rickard finally signed off on charters and bills he withheld because of the lords being stubborn. White Harbor was expanded alongside Barrowton. Last Hearth was built over in stone, same as the Mormont’s keep. Money flowed into the North, and her coffers. She and Rick finally began working on the vineyard project they began long ago, using snowberries and snowgrapes, taking the wild forms and making them formable. The wine was amazing, and she loved it.

They took back parts of the Gift with new and improved treaties with the Night’s Watch, and rebuilt Moat Cailin. These were essential to her, her sons Ned and Ben will never be beggars to Brandon, never grovel, they will have their own lands and be loyal bannerman to Brandon.

Everything was perfect to Olenna, Brandon was betrothed to Catelyn Tully, never mind that small bump with the whore Barbrey, a deal she made herself, while Rickard betrothed Ned to Sharra Arryn. She not only disagreed because she had no say in this betrothal, but also because she looked too much like Lyarra. Lyanna was betrothed to Robert Baratheon.

Olenna knew Lyanna did not like Robert but Olenna hardly ‘liked’ Rick when they met, in fact she positively despised him till she saw his eyes. Give it time she told Lyanna, but obviously her wild child didn’t listen and played the game of thrones to war.

All in the span of a month, she was redoing her husband’s wedding cloak for Brandon just to see his smile to forgive her for the harsh words against Barbrey, next she knew her strong legs were collapsing under her at Moat Cailin when she heard her wild son Bran and Rick were gone, dead, burned to death by a mad king.

The north was so cold now, not sure if it was because it was cold, and winter just ended or because her warmth was gone. Ned came and went, despite Ben’s pleas and her blank looks. He was Rick reborn with lighter-colored hair. Once he left to war, Ben tried to run thrice, but she kept her sweet boy here, at home, where Bran, Lya, and Rick belonged. To only regret keeping him later, for Ben never forgave himself for not helping.

She vaguely remembered what Rick did for his father when he died, hoping she didn’t fail or mess up the Stark’s ritualistic burial practices, some ancient Old Gods practice. There wasn’t even a speck of ash for them, but she remembered all they needed was a statue of likeness and prayer of loved ones for a whole day for the souls to return to Winterfell and be the guardians of the Long Night.

Battles and rumors plagued her constantly. News came slowly, but it did come. One minute they were fighting near the Westerlands, next they were at the Trident. Ned married Catelyn to get the Tullys to his side. Olenna approved of it, she liked Catelyn, good strong hips and was already a great lady of Riverrun. The loyal lions of the West turn red like their old rivals and betrayed the Targaryens. Now only two were left in the world, a boy named Viserys and a babe named Daenerys, fled across the Narrow Sea. And the oaf Robert was king. 

When Ned returned with a casket and a basket, she knew, of course she knew. Now that the war was over, and her love gone did she cry. She held her grandsons, one a lord, the other a king. She loved Robb, but Jon, her blonde headed grandson, he was her salvation. Lyanna reborn, down to the freckles across their noses and the beauty mark on their chin they both got from her, and their eyes were all from Rickard. Sometimes looking at Jon it felt like her husband was looking back at her. As he grew, he followed her everywhere, then he led her everywhere on his arm.

She loved all her grandchildren down to the wild brat they named Rickon after her Rickard, who was the complete opposite of the little hellion. Though Jon awakened something in her that died when Rick died. She took a backseat to her son’s rule, but her hand was in everything. Soon she was called the Queen of Ice by everyone. Soon most of the younger generation didn’t even know her given name anymore. She ruled the North, and she had plans to rule the Seven Kingdoms, for Jon of course.

She prepared for the future. Robert was never going to last, and hearing about his antics made her so angry she wanted to claw his eyes out. No wonder Lyanna ran from him, he was Aegon IV returned. Aerys and Robert caused all this mess to her, if Robert had been a decent human Lyanna wouldn’t have ran to Rhaegar and in turn cause Rick and Bran’s deaths, and Ben wouldn’t have run at the first opening to the wall in guilt.

She knew Ned did not approve, he watched her constantly, he feared for her and of her.

Olenna made the same mistake she did before, complacency while plotting, before she could blink, Ned was dead beheaded by Aerys the Third, Ben was lost behind the wall, Jon was crowned king and was uniting the Seven Kingdoms against the Lannisters and Baratheons. Her granddaughters were either lost or prisoners, Bran was a cripple with strange but useful abilities, and Rickon was her wild guard dog that followed her as she gained allies for Jon. 

_Damn them all_, she thought as she laid down in her bed after a lifetime of being the Queen of Ice, she dreamt of Bran and Rick, with their hands outstretched, beckoning her to come. She did for once with no argument.

**Author's Note:**

> The ending is weak because i couldn't think of an appropriately way for it to end as Olenna's story in ASOIAF is nowhere close to being done.
> 
> Stormbringer is coming soon, but I wrote this a long time ago and recently saw it in drafts and worked on it. Originally it was a drabble, like a 800 words of just the beginning but then it spiralled out of control. 
> 
> I wrote this whole post to Gregory Porter - Be Good. The song doesn't mean anything to the fic but it is a great song for writing romance.


End file.
